


the place you made for me

by mulkki



Category: TsukiPro the Animation
Genre: Growth, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, they're all boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 03:44:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13696176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mulkki/pseuds/mulkki
Summary: Mamoru struggles with his solo, and the others help.





	1. we gathered like puzzles missing pieces

**Author's Note:**

> rated M to be on the safe side but it's only for like one vague paragraph lol, and it's really easy to see it coming, once you're past that you're safe

**_lila’s melody_ **

“Hmhmm—hmhmhmhmm—hmhmm, hmm, hmhmhmhmm—hmhm—“

“—Mamoru?” The veranda door slides open, and Kouki pokes his face out as Mamoru looks up from the potted plant in his hand. “Oh, you’re here, I—“

“—Ah—“

“—Am,” Kouki pauses, just briefly. “Am I interrupting?”

“N-no! Not at all!”

“It’s okay, I can come back later—“

“—No, really, it’s okay!”

Kouki stays where he is. “I have to say, I didn’t realize when Ryouta said you were, ah.” He pauses to recall the exact words, and recites them. “He said you were ’burying yourself in gardening’, and.” His gaze travels down, at all the plants surrounding and _lying on top of_ Mamoru—they’ve been taken from all around their dorm and gathered here, away from their usual resting spaces. “I didn’t realize it was literal.” He thinks he recognizes a particular withering succulent—Shiki-san’s, if he remembers right, involving a bet on whether he was capable of keeping it alive.

“I, uh...” Mamoru looks around for a way to put the plants in hand down. His hands and lap are all crammed with pots and vases, though, and his eyes wander between the jam-packed veranda space and his own full lap trying to figure out a way to safely land all of them.

“Here, let me help.” Kouki tiptoes between the tight spaces between the pots to lift a couple plants out of Mamoru’s arms, and there’s an audible sigh of relief as Mamoru is finally able to reorganize the plants on himself to safer grounds.

“Um. I can explain.”

“It’s okay, Mamoru, Ryouta already explained.”

Unease trickles down Mamoru’s spine. “Ah, r-really? Um, what _did_ Ryou-kun say?”

“He said you were burying yourself in gardening in ‘an attempt to communicate with some higher being on some plane on some level for creative ideas out of desperation’... something like that.”

“Well.” Mamoru scratches his head. “I can’t deny that… though, I’d just like to say, I’m not completely desperate! Just, er, hopeful. Yes, yes! I’m not desperate, really, _well okay_ , maybe just slightly… How about ‘reasonably concerned’? Or ‘professionally aware of certain duties and upcoming dates and the need to deliver’…”

“Mamoru.” He puts a hand on his shoulder, or tries to anyway, but it’s the smooth-glazed pot that meets Mamoru’s shoulder instead of a human hand. It doesn’t matter, though—plant, hand, whatever it may be, it’s _Kouki_ , and he understands the sentiment behind the awkward outreach. “Are you okay?”

“…I could be better,” he concedes, while gently taking the plant out of Kouki’s hands. “I’m a little worried about the upcoming solos, and.” He looks down at the leafy plant in his hands, eyeing the depths of the leaves and branches deeply as if he could dive in and hide in there. “I want to make you guys good songs.” Of course, hiding in a potted plant is impossible, impractical, et cetera—so he looks up and smiles instead. “It’s okay, Kou-kun! Even if I can’t contact the plant realm for ideas, I’ll still come up with something—oh?” He stops as a drop of water hits his nose, and they both look up at the cloudy sky to see drops starting to fall, little by little.

“It’s raining,” says Kouki. Mamoru, embarrassingly, forgets to respond out of distraction at how that mundane, obvious statement sounds like a line out of a drama when Kouki says it—even worse is the confused blink that follows, unaware of what he does. He snaps out of it when he realizes one of the plants he’s holding is on loan from the Kuga twins—technically it’s from Issei, but Ichiru is particularly protective.

“I have to return some of these!” Mamoru bends down to collect some plants, flitting between clusters of plants spread out on the ground.

Kouki crouches down with him. “Oh, and some of these aren’t supposed to have so much water… we should bring those inside away from the rain.”

“Ah, right, right—Kou-kun, can I leave those to you? I’ll hand you the plants from out here, let’s collect them all inside for now, ahh, the one time I borrow plants from the other dorms, this happens—“

“—Is that really a thing, though? Borrowing plants from people, that is.”

“Ah. You got me there, Kou-kun.”

\---

Between the two of them they make quick work of bringing in all the plants, but not without casualties—the two of them are soaked by the time all the plants are safely inside, or in their rightful place in the rainfall.

Mamoru brings out a couple towels as Kouki stares out at the downpour. “I sure got lucky, now that I think about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you came to find me. If you didn’t, I’d probably still be out there, buried in plants.” Almost as if on cue, a small sneeze escapes Mamoru.

“I’m glad, then.” Kouki steps in, draping the towel over Mamoru’s head. “We need to take especially good care of you.”

“…Huh?”

Kouki smiles at him, slightly tinged in confusion, as he gently ruffles the towel into Mamoru’s hair. “Well, you’re the one who makes our music, Mamoru—you work so hard for _all_ of us, and you always make things I love. Of course I’d want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I.” Mamoru slowly sinks down in place, face flushing deeper as he descends. “Kou-kun, you. You.”

Kouki blinks again, towel still in hand. “I’m sorry, Mamoru, did I accidentally poke you?”

Mamoru mumbles into his hands on the way down. “In a way, yes, in my heart...”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, nothing!”

“Oh.” Kouki holds out the towel again as Mamoru straightens up again. “Here, turn this way?” Mamoru obeys, closing his eyes as he lets Kouki wrap the towel around him again. He hums as Kouki works, leaning into the soft touches he learns to expect.

What he doesn’t expect is the warm touch of lips that come next, and he starts at it, and at how suddenly warmth drapes him all over. It takes a few seconds of distraction at how soft his lips are to realize _oh,_ yes, _they’re kissing_ , and the warmth is from the hands on his shoulders.

When they break away Mamoru blinks, mind taking the time to catch up. “Kou...kun?”

A hand reaches up to lean against his cheek, and light eyelashes brush against his cheek as Kouki nuzzles close. “Let me take care of you.” It could be his imagination, but it comes out more a question.

“I.” Mamoru opens his mouth, then closes it, conflicted in how to reply over this sudden display of affection. But then Kouki looks into his eyes, and Mamoru thinks he recognizes the glimmer of worry and unasked questions.

_Ah._

Mamoru smiles—there’s a warm fuzzy swell of something in his heart at the straightforward kindness in Kouki’s eyes, and really, he should be an adult and get it together. “Kou-kun.” He strokes Kouki’s cheek in turn, giving it a gentle pat and a kiss in place. “I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Mamoru wraps his own arms around Kouki’s waist. “You’re always taking such good care of me! I don’t even have a chance to _not_ be fine.” He takes a chance and goes on. “And I might feel challenged at times when composing, but you know? In the end I still love making music for you—for us.” Luckily he’s rewarded with a relieved smile from Kouki, and he knows he’s made the right call; he feels his shoulders relax, and his neck shifts in an invitation to Kouki’s hands to finish working their way through his shirt buttons.

Kouki’s fingers make quick work of them, and warm hands soon slide the cold wet shirt off of Mamoru’s shoulders. “You’re so _warm_ , Kou,” he chuckles lightly, leaning into the touch of skin. Soon their lips meet again and again until the next thing he realizes is he’s flat on his back, peering up past golden hair brushing his face. The view doesn’t last long as Kouki presses his mouth to Mamoru’s again, and Mamoru feels his way along his chest to help Kouki slip out of his own wet clothes. 

“We should use that song,” Kouki says suddenly, hands pausing mid-slip along Mamoru’s chest.

“Hm? What song?”

“The one you were just humming.”

“Huh?” Mamoru gasps, hand flying up to his face as he tries to hide his flush. “Wait, what? Oh my god, was I humming? I didn’t even realize.”

Kouki nods. “It’s the same melody you were humming at Lila.”

“Lila? Oh, which one was that, was it the one with the purple pot?”

“No, the one with the blue pot—the second pachira we got.”

“Ah,” Mamoru laughs, stirring up the familiar half-formed melodies in his memory. “So _that’s_ Lila.” He hums again, adding a couple measures in nonsensical syllables to continue the thread. “Hmm, I don’t know, it lacks a bit of flair. I’d want to write something really grandiose, and really cool for you, Kou-kun!”

Kouki mouths along Mamoru’s jaw, marking a trail and stopping to nip at a place along his neck he remembers Mamoru likes. “No, I like that one. We should use it.”

Mamoru tries to suppress the shiver long enough to form a reply. “Ah—ahh, are you sure? I mean, I just kinda came up with it on the fly, I should sit down and come up with a proper idea for you—“

He doesn’t get to finish as Kouki presses in again, and something about the clumsiness of it—all emotion and youthful earnestness, at complete odds with the sophistication he doesn’t know he presents—makes his heart swell again in fond affection. “It’s a melody with our world in it.” He brings their foreheads together, and it’s impossible to imagine that barely a few minutes earlier, they were both so cold. “I want this one.”

“Ah,” Mamoru manages out between kisses. “I forgot, Kou-kun—you can be surprisingly single-minded.”

 

 

 

**_planetaria_ **

“Sometimes,” sighs Kensuke, as he takes a lollipop out of his mouth with a loud wet _pop!_ , “you need stuff like this.” The flash of blindingly neon orange winks at Mamoru, catching the light from the glaring TV screen. “I love Kou’s cooking and all, but sometimes you need a little junk food in your life. Want one?”

Mamoru takes one from Kensuke’s outstretched hand. “Where’d you get these? Last I checked, Kou-kun and Ryou-kun aren’t the type to leave junk food around the house.” He picks a blueberry one, the most subtle of all the brightly colored pops in his hand.

Kensuke bites through his, loud _crunch_ mixing with the noise of rustling wrappers as he opens a pack of biscuits. “Nozomu—well, some of them, anyway.” He takes a bite. “Ooh, these have orange cream inside. Wanna try one?”

Mamoru turns to respond—instead, a sandwich of sugary biscuit and sweet, tart cream greet him. He quickly nibbles through it, forgetting that he doesn’t have to answer, and in his haste to finish his mouth hits Kensuke’s hand, tongue licking the tips of Kensuke’s fingers.

“Ah, sorry, Ken-kun—”

“—Pfft.” Kensuke snickers, loud and unabashed, as he licks his thumb and reaches down for another biscuit. “I feel like I’m feeding a dog.”

“D-dog…?”

“ _—Ahaha!_ ” Kensuke doubles over at Mamoru’s expression, and the pack comes dangerously close to slipping out of his hands. A couple unlucky pieces of candy fall off his lap, and soon the floor is littered with stray crumbs and pieces as Mamoru reaches over to pick them up but adds to the mess as he forgets the small piles on his own lap. “Oh my god, Mamoru, if it were anyone else I’d _swear_ they were doing that on purpose.”

“W-what,” Mamoru blinks, pausing halfway to the floor with snacks spilling out of his hands to look up at Kensuke. “What’s that supposed to mean… Ken-kun? Um, Ken-kun? Are you okay?”

It’s too much, and Kensuke breaks—he rolls around in the piles of junk food and DVD cases, laughter loud and unabashed as Mamoru frets between reaching down to help Kensuke and looking up and around for someone to help. Eventually his breathing evens and he manages to sit back up, wiping tears from his eyes as Mamoru looks ten seconds away from breaking into nervous sweats.

“It’s,” he wheezes, plucking a stray lollipop wrapper from his sleeve. “Nothing.” He leans back against the sofa, turning to the TV. “You’re just hilarious.”

“...I, um.” Mamoru _ahem_ s, turning back to the TV with that hilarious puppy look still on his face. “I’ll just pretend that’s a compliment, Ken-kun.” It’s actually adorable, Kensuke thinks, and he has to admit: he sometimes does stuff on purpose to see it.

Kensuke sighs deeply, setting his attention back to the TV. It’s a documentary about space, one he could probably recite front to back from memory, and something about the nebulas and stars makes him want—

“—kind of makes you want something soft and sweet… like cotton candy! Something like that? Ahaha...” Mamoru speaks up suddenly, and it takes Kensuke a while to realize it’s _Mamoru_ , not himself, giving voice to these thoughts. He continues to watch the TV screen, oblivious to Kensuke staring at him, focused eyes reflecting the glitter of stars.

Kensuke smiles to himself. “Y’know, I was thinking the same thing,” he responds, breezily as if his hand isn’t excitedly rummaging through the pile for a specific package. “Lucky for us both, I came prepared.”

“Huh?”

Kensuke holds up a pack of cotton candy. “Ta-da,” he grins, waving it like a prize.

Mamoru blinks. “D-did you just pull that out of nowhere?”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs over to the pile of snacks. “Told you I came prepared.”

“Do… do you always bring cotton candy to TV show marathons?”

Ken smiles. “Only to ones involving space.” When Mamoru continues blinking at him, he can’t help but laugh, and as he does he flushes slightly at the bashfulness he hears creeping into his own voice. “Actually, you remember my sister, right? The one who pushed me to audition? She used to take me to planetariums when we were little.” He pulls a tuft of cotton candy out, smiling at it. “We had this thing of getting cotton candy afterwards, because, well, I don’t really remember why anymore. But we would.”

“So it became a thing that stayed with you, even now…” Mamoru smiles back at him. “That’s really cute! Your sister sounds like a great person.”

Something about Mamoru’s expression there catches in Kensuke’s throat, and he quickly swallows the half-melting tuft in his hands. “She’s alright. Kinda nags a lot, sometimes.” He turns back to the screen. “Anyways, look, I like this part! It’s about Vega, one of the brightest stars in the sky—it’s part of the Lyra constellation, which,” he gestures invisible lines at the screen, “you can see here.”

“Aw,” Mamoru smiles at him, soft and affectionate. “A rare shot of Ken-kun being cute.” Mamoru’s grin at him curls to something almost Cheshire-like underneath the visible affection, and Kensuke bluffs back with a smile in return.

“I’m not gonna rise to that, Mamoru, I’m not Ryou.”

Mamoru chuckles. “Nope, you sure aren’t. Thank goodness someone here can keep it cool and accept a compliment.”

“I know what you mean,” Kensuke laughs back. “Well, someone’s gotta protect our royal highnesses, right?” He pulls a tuft of cotton candy and holds it out to Mamoru. “To us, the common-sense knights.”

Mamoru reaches a hand out, then stops, hand hanging in the space between them as he snickers into his other hand. “First a dog, and now I’ve been upgraded to a knight… this is the second-biggest career jump I’ve ever had.” He straightens up and mock-salutes with one free hand, but the tremble in his voice quickly betrays his laughter. “What a fast promotion, I am truly thankful for this opportunity and do solemnly swear to accept the full responsibilities of this role and—.”

Ken snickers. “Hurry up and take it, it’s gonna melt!”

“Oh, okay, okay—”

“—Here,” Kensuke holds out the tuft, just a hair’s breadth away from Mamoru’s face. At the very last minute, though, he pulls away and stuffs it into his own mouth.

“H-huh? What?”

“You were too slow,” Ken laughs, ”so I’m helping out.” He grins as a slight flush forms on Mamoru’s cheeks, and as he makes that same puzzled, puppy-dog face again, he feels the warmth reflect on his own face. “I’m gonna end up eating all this by myself, at this rate.” As he pops the remainder of the small package into his mouth, he shrugs at a slumped Mamoru. “Oops, all gone!” Kensuke licks his thumb.

“Aw, Ken-kun…”

“It’s okay,” he smiles, motioning Mamoru in closer. “I’ll still let you taste it.” Before Mamoru can begin to form a reply, Kensuke pulls him in by his shirt and kisses him.

It’s a terrible mess at first, mostly because Kensuke can’t stop grinning at the surprised noise Mamoru makes against his mouth. Eventually, with some nose bumping and “hey!”s and tumbling around Kensuke manages to kiss him properly, wrapping his tongue around Mamoru’s until the taste of sugar fills every corner of their mouths. There’s that little shaky moan in Mamoru’s breath as Kensuke shifts his weight against his, pinning him down on the sofa, and in return piano-slim fingers dance their way into Kensuke’s hair. He doesn’t have the time to be embarrassed at the noise they raise in his own throat as they trail down, leaving light tickling sensations against the back of his neck that send shivers down his back.

“Hey,” Kensuke breathes, “stop that.” He chuckles as Mamoru does, foreheads bumping lightly as he kisses him in place, over and over.

“Hmm—” Mamoru hums between slick lips, “I wasn’t—” Another kiss, another giggle. “—really doing anything, though?”

“You know _exactly_ what you were doing.” Kensuke traces Mamoru’s jaw, working his way up to nibble his ear. “So much for old dogs not learning new tricks, huh?”

“Ah, that hit something in this old man’s heart—”

“—Oh, c’mon, Mamoru!” Kensuke buries his face in Mamoru’s hair, stifling the giggles pushing up inside him. “You gotta stop making me laugh so much. Actually,” he pauses, resting his chin on Mamoru’s chest. “Don’t stop. I love it.”

Mamoru makes an embarrassed noise, somewhere between a cough and a choke. “Ah, Ken-kun, I forgot you had that ultimate weapon—the others are shy and delicate, but. You,” he runs a hand through his hair, “you don’t hold back.”

Kensuke pulls himself up to press their mouths together again, familiar taste of sugar reflooding his tongue as he rolls his body against Mamoru’s. As Mamoru’s body responds to his, flush against each other, a sugary-sweet smile stretches across his face—betraying nothing about the hand reaching down to slip below Mamoru’s waistband. “Nope, I sure don’t.”

 

 

 

**_primula on the sweet breeze_ **

Ryouta, Mamoru decides, is actually very honest.

His honesty shows up in the hesitations he hasn’t learned to control yet, the briefest glimpses of youthful, fiery temper and earnest dedication before he catches himself and wraps up in stoic professionalism like armor.

It shows up in the furrow of his brows and the slight clench-and-release of his hands as the things he loves are challenged, too. Pick a fight with him _personally_ , and he’ll rise to the challenge— _blooming_ at the chance, even. But question his job, his friends, and—Mamoru still can’t believe it sometimes—Growth’s music, and fire melts through ice-carved facade to pour out words with a viciousness from a very pretty face which, Mamoru has to admit, makes the harsh words all the more surprising. It makes him smile, though, in an oddly endearing way.

It shows up in the breathy neediness in his voice when they’re together, stifled as he bites into Mamoru’s bare shoulder to muffle the noises leaking from his throat at every roll of their hips. It’s a beautifully gradual crescendo, Mamoru can’t help but think, with Ryouta’s voice growing more and more audible with his thrusts until they finally rip a shaky cry out of him, as they release together. The nails digging into Mamoru’s back release their clench as they ride out the last thrumming pulses of heat and electricity, and Ryouta’s breath lands hot and heavy where he goes limp against his body. They linger there for a while, in a sweaty tangle of limbs.

“What,” Ryouta huffs at him, glaring with the fullest of blushes coloring his cheeks, “are you smiling about like that? It’s creepy.”

“You’re gonna hit me if I say it,” Mamoru smiles back at him, failing to keep the laughter out of his voice. “Ow-ow _owow_ —” he flinches, as Ryouta pouts and pinches his nose.

“You had it coming. Now, out with it.”

“Well, I guess I’ve already taken the damage.” Mamoru lets his chuckles escape him, and he dares to slip a hand out to stroke Ryouta’s cheek. “I was just thinking, I love it when you’re hones—”

“—Don’t,” Ryouta’s voice comes from somewhere above him, muffled over the pillow currently smothering his face. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Mamoru nods, hoping the motion carries through the thick pillow. He nods a little more furiously when he starts sweating under the stifling pillow, and when Ryouta finally has mercy on him he gasps at the cool sweet air.

Once he catches his breath he sits up to press a kiss to Ryouta’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his slender waist from behind. “I don’t think it’s anything to be embarrassed about, Ryou-kun.”

Ryouta groans. “The fact that this is coming from you,” he says, all the while leaning into the embrace, “is what makes this so embarrassing.”

“Huh?! Why!”

“Because you’re Mamoru, obviously.”

“Huh—”

Ryouta pushes his hands against Mamoru’s mouth; above his hands, Mamoru can see the flush growing deeper on his face. He shrugs, signaling his defeat, and thankfully Ryouta lets go.

He tries again. “It’s not a bad thing, you know—being honest.”

Ryouta raises an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms. “What are you trying to do here? Be a nice onii-san, or something?” Something shifts in his expression, then, and a mischievous smirk forms on his (swollen, bitten) lips as his eyes lid. “Hmm, if you’re into that kind of stuff, I guess I could think of something...”

It’s Mamoru’s turn to flush at the implications this time, and he waves a panicked hand in front of his face. “No! No no no, Ryou-kun, I’m sorry, please forgive me, don’t tease me like this—”

“—Pfft. You’re so easy.”

“Yes, I am...” Mamoru shakes his head. “Wait! No! Don’t deflect from the topic. Er, what was I gonna say—”

“—You weren’t gonna say anything, and we are going to go to sleep, unless you want me to kick you out.”

“Well, as much as I don’t want to get kicked out…” Mamoru crosses his arms, deep in thought. “But y’know—I still think, Ryou-kun, that you can be honest more often.”

“Really, this again!”

“Yes, really.” Mamoru gently tugs at Ryouta’s hand, pulling it down with the covers Ryouta holds up to his face. “I think you’re really cool, you know.”

“That’s a given, considering this line of work. Of course I’d be cool, to a certain degree, but why bring this up?”

“You know, Ryou-kun, you’re most honest when you’re standing on stage, right?”

Ryouta raises an eyebrow again. “Mamoru—”

Mamoru takes Ryouta’s hands in his own. “No, no, hear me out, really! I think you’re super cool when you’re like that, when you’re your honest self on stage! And when we were making your solo, the way you came super seriously and did all that studying up on music because you wanted to understand the composition process with me—”

“—Why are you bringing that up?” Ryouta pushes away, bare back facing Mamoru again—there’s enough light from the window, though, to show the flush creeping to the tips of Ryouta’s ears. “Of course I’d at least do that much, it’s my first solo and I need to have at least that level of preparation.” He turns back, staring down at his hands. “I’m not a talented composer like you are, and I’m not a natural talent like Kou, either.” There’s a certain distance to Ryouta’s eyes then, losing all trace embarrassment as he looks into the future and into himself—in ways Mamoru can’t see, but respects all the same. “All I can do is put in every effort I can make, in every way available to me.” He leans back again, back to Mamoru’s chest. “That’s all.”

Mamoru lifts a hand to take one of Ryouta’s. “See what I mean? Super cool.”

“Mamoru?” His voice is _cold_ , and the smile on his face is that lovely, cold one the members all know, the one that sends chills down their spines in the not-good way.

“Ah. R-ryou-kun, I.” He shakes his head. “I know what’s coming, but… mind taking it easy on me today?” He closes his eyes and lets the seconds tick away, bracing himself.

“Heh.”

Mamoru opens one eye slowly to find that he is, in fact, _not_ in danger of death. He does take the next two seconds to wonder if he’s accidentally activated a new level of Ryouta’s self-defense mechanisms, but fortunately for him it seems like he’s escaped certain death for the night. And as Ryouta’s shoulders relax and he sinks deeper into Mamoru’s lap, Mamoru’s own shoulders feel the tension lifting away.

“Ryou...kun?”

“I could get mad at you, but.” His hair brushes Mamoru’s face as he burrows into his chest. “I think I’ve accepted it by now, that you’re always just gonna be this stupidly, embarrassingly, _terribly_ sappy.” Ryouta jabs a finger into Mamoru’s cheek without looking up. The other hand winds tightly around Mamoru’s, lacing fingers together.

“Aw.” Mamoru smiles into Ryouta’s hair and preses a kiss to the top of his head. “You _are_ taking it easy on me today, thank you.”

“Take it however you want.”

“Mhm, mhm…” He strokes Ryouta’s hair, and they both settle comfortably down in bed. “...Wait.”

“What?”

“I just realized… but did you compliment me earlier? Y’know, when you said I was a talented composer—”

“—Mamoru, I swear, if you don’t shut up _right now_ I will make you.”

“Ryou-kun, what happened to taking it easy on me today?”

“You ran through my quota of ‘taking it easy’.” He shifts, suddenly, and before he realizes it Mamoru is flat on his back and straddled by Ryouta. “You’ll have to work for it again.”

 _Youth_ , he thinks, as his face flushes at the sight of Ryouta climbing on top of him, all lithe muscle and smooth skin stretching wide open for him. _What did I do to deserve this—_


	2. interlude

“John,” Mamoru sighs. “What’s it like being you? I bet it’s easy.”

John faces Mamoru, letting out a low rumble as he turns in place and sits down again next to Mamoru. His tail twitches as he makes a face up at him, and it’s then Mamoru is struck by the sudden thought that maybe John _does_ understand human language. Or at least, he can comprehend human expression—Mamoru looks down at him, at this Shiba Inu that somehow makes an expression uncannily like a questioning, and maybe a little scornful, raised eyebrow.

Mamoru pets John on the head. “Sorry, sorry—I’m sure you have it rough, in your own ways. Especially considering you deal with President Tsukino every day, huh?” John lets out a whimpering noise and lies down on his front paws, and Mamoru includes a couple head and chin scratches into the mix. John likes variety, he’s noticed, during the various dogsitting occasions through the past couple years. “There, there. You’re a good boy, I’m sure of it. Don’t let the President get you down.”

John raises his head and butts his nose against Mamoru’s hand in reply.

“Ah, are you telling me the same?” He laughs, resuming his petting. “Thanks for understanding.” He looks around at the office, at the schedule on the board neatly outlining future releases. “You’re a vital part of this company, you know that? Cheering people up like this.” John barks and wags his tail at that, and licks Mamoru’s hand. “Haha!” He takes John’s face in both hands, stroking his cheeks as John starts to lick Mamoru’s face. “Good boy, good boy… I wonder why Shiki-san is so afraid of you? Honestly, you’re such a nice dog to be around—“

“—That dog,” comes Shiki’s voice suddenly, and Mamoru jumps in his seat. “Has it out for _me_.”

“A-ah, Shiki-san!” Mamoru hastily gets up, displacing a disgruntled John from his lap. “I didn’t hear you come in…” He looks guiltily up at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to badmouth or anything, really—“

Shiki waves a hand in the air, shrugging. “It’s fine, I know you didn’t. And anyways, it might look like I dislike him, but that’s not the case.” Shiki looks down at John, and Mamoru notices the dark eye circles under Shiki’s eyes. “That dog is the one that dislikes _me_.”

John nonchalantly climbs back on Mamoru’s lap as they both sit down, and Mamoru absentmindedly starts petting him again. “What? But he’s so nice—“

“—Only if you meet his requirements.”

“Requirements?”

Shiki extends a hand out to John, at which John growls and retreats deeper to Mamoru’s side. “There’s something about me petting him that seems to rub him the wrong way.”

“…Was that a pun?”

“Huh?”

Mamoru sees how deep-set the dark circles under his eyes are. “...Never mind.”

“Anyways. He seems to be fine with anyone else petting him, but.” The furrow on Shiki’s brow deepens. “He’s always much more demanding with me.”

Mamoru bites back the _are you sure it’s not in your head?_ that naturally floats up, and turns back to the schedule. “Are you here to discuss your X-lied projects with the President, too?”

Shiki runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that was the plan. This release is taking a bit more time that we all expected, so we’re checking in on everyone’s project statuses. Understandable, some of the supporting departments are… not happy.”

Mamoru flashes back to his own phone call earlier that morning—they had decided to release Star Sail before his own solo, and the rescheduling had caused the marketing and PR staff a lot of work to adapt to. It was his fault, technically, and he did deserve every second of that phone call, but…

John licks Mamoru’s hand then, as if comforting him.

“Aw,” Mamoru reverts his attention to John again, petting him softly. “Thanks, John.” He tries to not look at Shiki staring intently at them, conflicted expression as if he wants to protest the unfair treatment. Thankfully Shiki collects himself just as Shu and Sora walk in, along with the President. As he does, John trots off the sofa and to President Tsukino’s side, tail wagging as he settles next to his desk.

“President,” Shiki nods, sitting back down.

“Shii-chan,” the President smiles back, inclining his head. Sora’s eyes widen as he lets slip an echo of that first syllable in confusion, but fortunately catches himself in time as he sees the dark cloud over Shiki’s face. Shu just smiles, good-natured as usual, but just maybe with the hint of something more twinkling in his eyes. Mamoru moves over to let Sora sit next to him as Shu settles next to Shiki. Once everyone settles, President Tsukino speaks up again. “Well, I think we all know why we’re here.”

“Oh, for the release schedule stuff, right?” Sora pipes up as John dives into his lap, and he laughs as John barks happily under his hand.

“Bingo!” He points to the whiteboard, where adjustments have been made in red. “We’re gonna go ahead and release the unit songs on schedule, but we’ll cut you guys some slack and let you finish the X-lied series after that. Don’t want to put out a disappointing release, you know?” John barks from Sora’s lap at that. “Right, John! Smart as always.”

Sora leans over and whispers to Mamoru. “Uh, does the President actually understand John?” Mamoru just shrugs in turn, and they both turn to the board.

“Shii-chan, I know you and Shu-kun are both working on that last piece, so you know what to do. Oh, do drop by Takizawa-kun’s to start planning arrangements for the summer live event. And sorry to rush you, Shu-kun, but we do need all of Quell’s solos done for our upcoming live, so I want you to prioritize that on your list. And you can start consulting with Hama-san on arranging the other three.”

As Shiki sighs and rifles through his planner with an automatic _don’t call me that_ , Shu nods back at the President. “I understand, and it’s fine—Eichi deserves a good solo, too, so I’d like to put all my efforts to that. Our last unit single’s recording session wrapped up recently and is set to release soon, and our marketing department is already handling the promotion efforts. They’re working in collaboration with the drama as a whole, which should offload the appearances I need to make _and_ find excuses to work the twins into a cameo, if we’re lucky.”

“Wonderful!” The President claps while whirling around in his chair. “I’m so glad you’re so dependable, Shu-kun. Next,” he waits for the chair to rotate back to face the board. “Sora-kun, you’re—“

“—Actually done! We released our unit single earlier than the others, so I technically had more time to work on it. Nozomu and Ren started practicing, uh, a couple days ago? I think.”

“Ah, youth.” He looks down at John. “Right? Youthful energy, so dependable.” John places a paw on Sora’s knee, barking happily up at him. “Our own Wonder Wand, indeed. So, that leaves… Mamoru-kun!” Mamoru feels chills down his spine, in the bad way. “How’s that last piece going?”

“It’s, uh.” Mamoru looks down at John, not the President. “In progress… sir.”

“Don’t stress too much about it, since we’ve already made plans to release Star Sail ahead of it. Just make sure to do a good job!”

“Ahah...” Mamoru laughs along—it feels flimsy and weak in the face of President Tsukino’s ringing laughter. “Yes, sir.” He tunes out the rest of the meeting as John pokes his nose at Mamoru’s knee, the others discussing the upcoming live and what songs to present while his mind frantically churns through music-less noises to find something, _anything_ to grab onto.


	3. i can't put it into words,

“Kou, you’re gonna get wrinkles like that.” Kensuke pokes his forehead and Kouki starts, not noticing his presence until then. “And then Ryou will start going on and on about skincare stuff, and you know how long that can get.”

“Ken,” he starts, blinking at the sudden poke.

“Alright, clearly something’s bothering you.” Kensuke plops down on the couch next to him, and the bounce jolts Kouki in place. “What’s up? You know you don’t do well dwelling on things alone—well, at least, _I know_ you don’t.”

Kouki smiles at him, though it’s warped by clear unease. “Thanks, Ken… you’re always good at reading the air like that.”

“Yep, that’s right, so there’s no point hiding anything from me.” Kensuke reaches up to push Kouki’s head down to lean on his shoulder. “Here, I’ll lend you my shoulder.” Kouki lets out a soft laugh then, and this time the sound is more at ease than the fragile smile he had on earlier—Kensuke reflexively breathes easier at it.

“Well,” Kouki starts, leaning against Kensuke’s side. “I am a little worried about Mamoru.”

“Ah, you, too?” Kensuke shrugs slightly, keeping his movements small to not displace Kouki. “I figured that was the case, since Ryou’s been pretty antsy, too.”

“Is he?” Kouki blinks up at him. “I didn’t notice.”

“Probably because you were so busy being worried about Mamoru,” Kensuke says, leaning his head back and sinking deeper into the sofa. “Ah, don’t take it the wrong way—I just mean, I can understand why you didn’t notice, and y’know, Ryou himself is pretty under wraps.” Kensuke looks up into the distance then, rubbing a finger along his chin. “Except when we make out.”

“Ah,” Kouki lifts his head up, looking at him. “I think I know what you mean.”

Kensuke laughs back. “Yeah! Then he’s, well. _Yeah._ Anyways! Mamoru, right?” He whistles in the air. “He’s been super-stressed about his solo and all.”

Kouki leans back onto Kensuke’s shoulder. “I wish there was something I could do to help him.”

“Kou, you cook and clean for him—you are _literally_ keeping him alive.”

“But—”

Kensuke laughs nervously, raking a hand through his hair. “I know what you mean, though.” He scratches his head. “We can be here on the sides helping out with everyday stuff, but in the end, all the composing is on him and only him. And he’s always been terrible at asking for help.”

“Maybe I should read up on composing, and try to help him brainstorm ideas?”

“Hmm, I guess you could, but then again, it might not help.” Kensuke looks down at him. “‘Cause, you know. Despite looking like that, he—”

“—Ah,” Something lights up in Kouki’s eyes, and he sits up. “He _does_ get really invested when it comes to composing.”

“Yeah, that!” Kensuke snaps his fingers. “He’s surprisingly greedy in that aspect—like he wants to build up his reason for being here.” He crosses his arms, then, furrowing his brows. “Though, I do think he could relax a little on that regard.”

“Yeah.” Kouki takes his hand, brows furrowing. “He doesn’t need to build reasons to be here, anymore.”

“Well, we should tell him that.”

Kouki cocks his head at him. “Tell him… but how?”

“Like this.” Kensuke leans in, stealing a kiss from Kouki’s lips. Kouki’s head cocks further, and the result is owl-like—Kensuke stifles a giggle, remembering Kouki’s unfortunate lack of humor.

“Tell him with a kiss?”

“Close, Kou, close.” Kensuke leans over more, then, Kouki naturally following his lead until they’re kissing again, gently at first, and then with more feeling until they’re both breathless and flushed and a couple cushions have been displaced from the sofa. Their bodies lie flush against each other, and Kouki can feel Kensuke’s tongue exploring his mouth with all the energy and haste of needing, wanting—

 _Oh._ Kouki gets it then; it’s about _want_.

Kensuke licks his lips as they break away. “Got it?”

Kouki nods. “Mhm.”

“Great!” Instead of getting up, Kensuke slips a hand under Kouki’s shirt instead. “But let’s review, just in case.”

 

 

 

* * *

“Oh no, Ryou. Not you, too.”

“And what,” Ryouta crosses his arms, eyes carefully cold and detached. “Do you mean by that?”

It’s a little too careful, and even if it weren’t Kensuke can see through Ryouta in a heartbeat from all their years together. “It’s okay, y’know, to admit you’re worried about him.”

“And Ken,” Ryouta replies, voice cold—the ice is fragile, though, and Kensuke can hear where the cracks form. “You’d know better than to make accusations like that.”

“Yeah, I would.” Ken shrugs in acceptance. “But then you’d continue to wallow like that, and that is one: a waste of your pretty face, and two: a serious downer for all of us, myself included.” His voice loses the laughter in it, then, and he looks Ryouta in the eye. “And you know how the others worry.”

“Ah—” Ryouta’s hand flies up to his face as he gasps. “Did Kou notice?”

“Hmm, maybe not yet. Though, I could also just tell him—owowowow—”

“—Don’t you _dare_ ,” hisses Ryouta, hand clutching Kensuke’s arm in a vise grip.

“Ryou, please, what do you take me for? You know I have the most tact in this group.”

“Fair.” Ryouta releases his grip, and Ken rubs his arm.

“Man, I forget how strong you get when you get all worked up.”

“Then don’t get me all worked up, stupid.”

Ken lets a snicker out. “I dunno, Ryou, it’s kinda fun when you do get like that. Like last night—”

“—Ken.”

Kensuke laughs and takes Ryouta’s hand, stroking it softly. “Okay, okay.”

Ryouta _tch_ es at him. “...You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise I’d silence you forever.”

“Aw, Ryou,” Kensuke grins at him, silly smile stretching wide across his face. “You _can_ be honest! You should do it more.”

“Oh god.” He groans and massages his temples. “Not you, too.”

“Huh?”

“I, uh.” Ryouta _tch_ es again, turning away from Kensuke. “It’s just that, Mamoru said the same thing the other day.”

Kensuke claps in response. “Oh, good job, Mamoru! Honestly, I was wondering how long it’d take for him to tell you that.”

“Ken, what?”

“He’s smarter than he looks, y’know? And I agree with him anyway, you’re best when you’re honest.”

Ryouta goes back to massaging his temples. “I can’t believe I’m being lectured on life by you two, of all people.”

“It’s because we care~” Kensuke sings, jabbing a finger into Ryouta’s cheek. “And you should take his advice, it’ll help him, too.”

“How?”

“Well, for one, you’d stop inflicting physical damage at every compliment.”

Ryouta opens his mouth as if to deny it vehemently, but stops and squints at him. “I don’t really do that, do I?”

“You… kinda do.” Kensuke shrugs. “Anyways, be honest with him! Tell him how much you care, it’d really make him feel better.”

“I—I can’t do that so suddenly.”

“Aw, how cute.” Kensuke cups Ryouta’s cheek, leaning in to give him a peck on the other.

Ryouta groans. “Ugh. Why are you like this.” His face tells otherwise, as his cheeks turn a delicate pink.

“Because you’re cute, duh.” He gives him another peck.

“I know I’m cute, but you need to stop.”

Kensuke leans on him, _gently_ , resisting the urge to pounce. “Stop?” He moves on to graze Ryouta’s lips lightly with his teeth. “Stop what?”

“You should know what I mean.” Despite the edge in his words Ryouta accepts his lips and shifts, lying down to accommodate Kensuke’s weight.

“Hmm, I’m still not sure what you really want.” Kensuke hums in the air, pulling away. “How about telling me honestly?”

“Shut _up_ , Ken, or I swear—”

“—What are you gonna do, make me?”

Ryouta’s hand yanks him down then, _hard_ , and before Kensuke registers what’s happening his lips are crushed against his—by the time they break apart he’s gasping for breath and his heart is beating fast as Ryouta licks his lips, peering up at him with _that look_. It signals danger. “Yeah. As a matter of fact, I will.”

“Ah.” Kensuke gulps. “I’m in trouble now, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are.”

Kensuke laughs in defeat as he’s yanked down again. “Well, I guess I kinda earned it.” Ryouta pulls him in by his neck, and this time, Kensuke answers—he slips his tongue in past bitten lips, knowing what Ryouta likes, relishing in moan after moan he teases out of him. In turn Ryouta’s hands tangle in Kensuke’s hair and his body arches up against his, teasing out his share of responses from Kensuke’s body.

Ryouta might be honest in his actions, but well—Kensuke is even more so.

 

 

 

* * *

“Kou…? You’re still up?”

Kouki looks up—it’s Ryouta, standing in the kitchen doorway with a look he can’t quite place.

“Ah, Ryou.” Kouki gestures to the mug of tea in front of him. “Mmm, I just felt like having tea.” He traces the rim of the mug with a finger. “It’s chamomile, I got it from Rikka-san the other day. It’s nice,” he finishes, and the air between them returns to silence.

“Mind if I join you?” Kouki nods, and Ryouta quietly sits next to him.

“Oh, let me make you some tea, hang on—” Kouki gets up suddenly as if remembering something to do, shuffling to the cupboards.

“Ah, thanks.” Ryouta tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, and silently watches Kouki as he makes his tea.

They sit in silence, sipping at their tea—the clock ticks loudly, echoing in the silence between them.

“Hey—”

“Um—”

Kouki backs off. “You first.”

“No, it’s okay. Go ahead, Kou.”

“Erm.” Kouki clears his throat. “Ryou, I. I wanted to ask, are you okay?”

Ryouta jumps in his seat. “Who told you—wait, was it Ken?” He grips the mug, knuckles turning white against the pink ceramic and Kouki edges away slightly just in case the mug shatters. “I am going to _kill him_ —”

“No, um.” Kouki shakes his head, venturing out a hand onto Ryouta’s arm. “I just felt like you’re a little stressed lately, like there’s something worrying you.”

“Kou…” Ryouta groans and buries his face in his hands. “Oh my god. If _you_ figured it out, then it must be _so_ obvious.”

The implication is lost on Kouki, who just pats his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Ryouta replies—the curt answer escapes too quickly to be natural, and it lands heavily between them. Kouki doesn’t respond, and for a while they sit there listening to the clock ticking to fill the awkward silence. Eventually, after too many ticks, Ryouta groans audibly. “Okay, fine, we probably should. After all, I think it’s bothering you, too, and that’s the last thing I want.”

Kouki nods. “Mamoru?”

Ryouta _tch_ es and leans on the table. “That idiot. Putting us through all this.”

“Ryou.”

“I know, I know—he’s the one who’s got it the hardest. I’m just.” His brows furrow. “Just, y’know.”

Kouki smiles. “I know, Ryou. You’ve been watching out for him.”

“Don’t say it out loud, please, let me pretend I’m still cool and collected.” Ryouta gestures at himself. “And not this… mess.” He blows his bangs out of his face. “I’m amazed you can stay so calm about it, Kou. Ken told me you were worried, too, but you’re doing a much better job of holding it together than I am.”

“Am I?”

Ryouta massages his temples. “And the fact that you don’t even realize it… that’s so. So _like you_ , really.” He sighs again for the umpteenth time, but it’s a little softer now and the sharpness in his eyes fades away as he reaches to lace hands with Kouki. “But, I do love that about you.”

Kouki smiles as he lays his other hand on top of theirs. “You’re much kinder than you like to give yourself credit for.”

“Kou…” He shakes his head. “The others I can shake off, but—but you?” Ryouta squeezes his hand around Kouki’s. “I just. Somehow…” Ryouta draws his knees to his chest, hiding into himself. “Gross, I feel like a sap. And to think, I was gonna ask _you_ how you were doing—can’t believe I thought I was in a position to help you when I can’t even help myself...”

“It is nice to hear your thoughts, though.” Kouki gently prods him, until he unfolds and Kouki can slide a hand along his flushed face. “I’m happy to hear you say you love me, and about what’s bothering you. And I’m sure the same goes for Mamoru and Ken.” He leaves a feather-light kiss on Ryouta’s nose. “We all know you care, and we want to return that feeling.”

“Kou…”

Kouki wraps an arm around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to Ryouta’s head when he leans in. “Let’s do what we can, okay? For each other and for Mamoru—whether that be sharing how we feel, or just being there for him.”

Ryouta nods into Kouki’s chest. “Fine. Because you say so.”

Kouki nods, stroking Ryouta’s hair. “Thank you, Ryou.” He starts when suddenly, Ryouta reaches up to pull him down for a kiss. “Ryou?”

“To make me feel better.”

Kouki gives him an indulgent smile. “Does it really make you feel better?”

“Yeah,” Ryouta snuggles in closer. “Because you’re pretty.”


	4. re:raise

“Hmm… _hmmmm_... Nope.” Mamoru crumples up another sheet. “Nope, still nothing.” He leans back in his chair, mulling over his thoughts until his chair is dangerously close to tipping over. He sighs, and then suddenly, he _does_ tip over—the resulting crash must be audible from outside, because Kensuke hurriedly comes running in.

“Mamoru?!” Kensuke inhales sharply at the scene, then exhales in a loud whistle as Mamoru shakes his head and manages to sit up. “Oh, you’re okay.” He squints. “Wait, are you?”

“Uh…”

Kensuke crouches down to Mamoru’s level and waves a hand in front of his face. “Can you see me? Can you hear me? Do you still understand human words?”

“Yes, yes, and um. I think so? Ken-kun, I.” He brushes off his clothes and stands up, but not without wincing and hitting his back. “I’m okay! Really.”

“If you say so…” Kensuke raises a brow. “It was pretty loud, I thought it might be serious.”

“Sorry, sorry… are the others around?”

“Nope, just me. Kou and Ryou both have scheduled jobs for today.”

“Ah.” Mamoru relaxes a little then, and bends to pick up his chair. “That’s good. Wouldn’t want to worry them.”

Kensuke crosses his arms and nods. “I know what you mean. Though, Mamoru, you should really take care of yourself first.”

Mamoru sits back down, leaning on the chair’s back again. “You know how they are, though, Ken-kun. They don’t show it, or at least, Ryou-kun tries hard not to show it, but they are kind of the type to worry a lot… and I’m sure I’ve kept them worrying for long enough with this solo, I’d hate for them to get even more worried because of something silly like this—”

“—That, that right there,” Kensuke interrupts, taking Mamoru’s face in both hands to face him directly. “Is _exactly_ why they worry.”

“Ken-kun?”

“Y’know, Mamoru, I thought since we were the common-sense team in this unit I wouldn’t have to spell it out for you.” Kensuke grins at him. “But I guess I’ll do you this favor—and for the others, too.”

Mamoru just blinks and nods, as if prompting Kensuke to go on.

“They—” he points in the general direction of their rooms— “worry about you—” he then points to Mamoru— “because you don’t think about taking care of yourself.” Mamoru’s eyes follow each movement of Kensuke’s hands, blinking owlishly when it finally reaches him.

Then the lightbulb dings. “Ah.”

Kensuke nods. “Yeah.”

“So you’re saying…” Mamoru makes vague gestures with his hands in the air, and Kensuke sighs.

“You’ve been throwing yourself into this project with a desperation like you’re bringing down the others, and I can’t say I don’t understand why, but you should really reconsider that line of thought.”

“Sorry, I. Huh?”

“Because,” Kensuke plops down on the ground, making himself comfortable. “When they think you’re stressing yourself out for their sake, that in turn stresses them out.”

“But it’s my solo.”

“Yeah, but you’re stressing over it because of the pressure on us as a group, right?”

“...You got me there.”

“Of course I do.” Kensuke leans back on his hands. “And now you get it, too.”

Mamoru half-sighs, half-laughs. “I was so desperate to do a good job on this series for everyone else’s sakes, but I wonder how it must’ve looked to them…” He rakes a hand through his hair, finally smiling at Kensuke. “What would I do without you, Ken-kun, the only other common-sense member in this unit?”

“Lucky for you I’m here, and I’d never leave Kou or Ryou in the first place.” Kensuke winks. “And yeah, you too. You’re also the only other common-sense member of this unit and all.”

 

 

 

* * *

“Ryou-kun? I thought you had work today?”

Ryouta looks up at him from the couch, book in hand. “Oh. You’re home.”

Mamoru scratches his head. “Yeah. Been home for a while, actually—just working on the next solo.”

Ryouta eyes him in a way Mamoru can’t quite place, then shrugs. “I ended earlier than expected today, so I thought I’d relax at home.” He looks back down at the book in his hand, flipping a page.

“I see, I see.” Mamoru smiles at him. “I’m glad, it seems like you’ve been busy lately.”

“Worry about yourself.”

The blunt force of those words from Ryouta comes as a surprise—his voice, so light and airy before, is suddenly weighted down with emotions that make Mamoru wince where he stands. “Ryou-kun? Are you okay?”

“Why,” Ryouta rolls his eyes, snapping his book shut. “Is everyone in this entire unit out to ask me that?” He narrows his eyes at Mamoru. “And how are you so concerned about me, and other people in general, when you’ve got so much to deal with?”

“Uh,” Mamoru starts to speak, then pauses when he recognizes the emotions whirling around in Ryouta. “Wait, were you worried about me—”

“—Yes,” Ryouta spits out, voice shaking slightly. “Yes, I was. _Am._ I _am_ worried about you,” he stands, prodding Mamoru’s chest. “And it’s all your fault.”

“M-my fault?” Suddenly, Kensuke’s face flashes in front of him.

“Yes, it is.”

“Oh.” _Goodness,_ Mamoru thinks, as he watches Ryouta’s face. He’s been a terrible adult lately, making Ryouta and the others worry like this. But somehow it’s endearing, seeing Ryouta like this; he has to respond properly, so he puts on his best smile and takes Ryouta’s hand in his own. “Thank you, Ryou-kun.”

“For what?”

“For worrying about me. You’re really kind at heart, you know that? Worrying about me, and then telling me to ‘worry about myself’ instead.”

“Ahh, ahhh, stop, I.” He buries his face in his free hand. “I was supposed to be nice to you, not yell at you… and on top of that you’re _still_ being this nice to me.” He shakes his head. “Kou did the same thing, too… _ughhhh_ why are you all like this? Why am _I_ like this?”

“Well,” Mamoru gently tugs his hand away from his face. “It’s who you are, and we love you anyways?” He smiles as Ryouta finally faces him. “And it’s nice, to hear you’re thinking about me.” He laughs nervously, remembering the other day’s conversation. “Though, I do feel a bit bad for making you worry so much.” He tucks a stray lock of hair behind Ryouta’s ear. “I should make it up to you.”

Ryouta gently tugs away. “It’s fine. You don’t have to make up anything, I mean, I did yell at you a little. And you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s all because I, I.” His hands fidget together. “I care… about you.”

Mamoru resists both the urge to clap his hands to his mouth and the urge to crouch down into the ground as his heart swells at the sight—instead he holds himself together, knowing any extra behavior will only send Ryouta into prickly self-defense. And besides now isn’t the time to embarrass him, he tells himself, it’s time to thank him instead for caring so much. He settles on patting him gently on the head, the most he’ll dare to venture at this precious time. “Thank you, Ryou-kun, it makes me really happy to hear that.”

“It better. And wipe that stupid smirk off your face, it’s creepy.”

“Ah, there’s the Ryou-kun I know and love!”

“Shush. And don’t you dare tell Ken or Kou about this, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

 

 

 

* * *

Mamoru bounces another crumpled piece of paper against the wall, sighing when it fails to bounce into the trash can and falls to the side instead. “I wonder,” he asks aloud to himself, “why this one is taking so long?”

“Maybe we can think about what’s different about this song, compared to the other ones you’ve written before?”

“Ah, good idea—wait. Huh?” He whips around, realizing someone is there with him—it’s Kouki, standing in his open doorway. “Kou-kun? How long have you been there?”

“I was just passing by, then I heard you asking something.”

“O-oh. I see.” _What amazing timing,_ he thinks.

“So, what do you think is different?”

“I’m sorry?”

Kouki motions to the musical scribbles in front of Mamoru. “Your song this time around, compared to all the stuff you’ve written before.”

“Oh.” Mamoru rubs his chin. “Huh, I never really thought about it like that, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.” He continues to rub his chin. “Hmm... I don’t know, it just seems to be taking longer than the others.”

Kouki mirrors him, rubbing his chin alongside him. “And I don’t think it’s just because it’s a solo, after all, you wrote us our solos without much issues.”

“I did, didn’t I…” Mamoru scratches his head. “Ahh, if I don’t finish this soon, we’ll be in hot water with the company.” He rubs his face in his hands, ending with a couple slaps to his face. “Okay! I have to do this! I will do this! I’ve been given this place to exist in, so I have to produce results, or else—”

“—Ah.” Kouki starts, tapping a fist in his open hand. “I just remembered something.” He walks over to Mamoru, and leans in to quickly kiss him before Mamoru can react.

Predictably, Mamoru jumps in his seat. “K-kou-kun?”

“Kensuke said something about showing you, and we decided it would be best like this.” Kouki pulls him in again by his shoulders, and this time the kiss reaches deep, _deep_ inside as he feels that earnest clumsiness so characteristic of Kouki overlap with something a little needy, like Ryouta, and unabashed, like Kensuke.

“...You’re a fast learner.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Mamoru shakes his head, still stunned. “Sorry, what was _that_?”

“To show you that your place is here, with us.” His hands never leave Mamoru’s shoulders. “You’re irreplaceable, don’t you know? Composer or not.”

Mamoru laughs nervously. “O-oh… oh god.” His voice comes out barely above a squeak as he shrinks in his seat. “Was it that obvious?”

“Not at first,” Kouki concedes. “But we figured it out.”

“Ah.” Mamoru leans in against Kouki’s chest, burying his face in the soft fabric. “I’m a terrible adult.”

There’s a soft chuckle from Kouki, but without malice. “We knew that already.” A hand pats his head gently.

“Kou-kun, that sounds like something Ryou-kun would say.” He laughs. “Though, it was cute when he told me he was worried about me. It’s nice when he’s honest.”

Kouki nods; Mamoru feels the movement just above his head. “Yeah, it is.”

“I bet Ken-kun told him to be nice. He’s very dependable, isn’t he? And he manages to keep us all sane.”

“He really does.”

“And you, Kou-kun—you’re always so supportive. It all started with you, you know, when you picked me up off the streets. And you never stopped supporting me and my music, not even once.”

“What can I say,” Kouki wraps his arms around Mamoru’s shoulders. “I love it—the new worlds and the new experiences you create, just everything.”

“It’s not all me, really! To be honest, I just naturally come up with ideas when I think about you guys. Even for our unit songs, sure I’ve had the occasional struggle, but.” He smiles up at Kouki. “I think about what to express to you guys, and before I know it, there’s something in my head.” He blinks and sits up. “Oh.”

Kouki seems to have understood, too, because the wide-eyed stare he sees in Kouki’s expression must be the same one that’s on his own face. “This is your first time composing a song… for yourself.”

“Wait, let me double-check.” Mamoru mentally runs through their discography briefly, and sure enough, it’s the first time he _isn’t_ composing for someone else.

Kouki cocks his head at him. “Well?”

“Yeah… This really is my first time, ever since we became Growth. I can’t believe it.”

“It would explain why you’re struggling so much.” Kouki nods, finger tapping against his chin. “It’s unfamiliar territory.”

“I don’t know whether to feel relieved at finding a reason, or disappointed at myself for not realizing until now.”

Kouki pats his back. “It’s okay, don’t be too hard on yourself. At least you know, now. How do you feel? Do you think you can move forward now?”

Mamoru looks down at his hands, then back up at Kouki. “Oddly enough, maybe.”

 

 

 

* * *

“—And so I said all that stuff, and I did think so at the time, but to be honest I _still_ have no idea what to do.” He buries his face into John’s fluffy neck. “Just because I know the reason, doesn’t mean I’ve figured out a solution.”

John shakes his head and attempts to wriggle out of Mamoru’s grasp, at which he sighs and reluctantly loosens his grip on him. He barks softly at him, nudging Mamoru in the cheek with his nose.

“Are you telling me to get a grip on it? Oh, yay, that’s great, a dog is telling me to get it together.” He laughs, weak and hollow. “But then again, I was at one point a stray dog picked up, ahaha…” He gives up on being polite and buries his face in John’s fur again with a loud sigh, holding tight onto the struggling Shiba who soon gives up and lies down in place. Mamoru lets himself be dragged down onto the ground, never letting go the whole way down. “Joooooohn… please help me, I need help.”

John lets out a low whine, almost as if he were saying, “what do you want me to do about it?”

“Just hear me out, John.” Mamoru lifts his head, settling back to stroke John’s fur slowly. “I get that I’ve always been composing for other people until now, and now that I have to compose for myself, I’m at a complete loss. So the question is, how do I get un-lost?”

John flicks his tail, staying silent.

“‘How should I know, I’m a dog’?” Mamoru squeezes his face, reveling in the elasticity. “But John, you live with Takizawa-san, surely you must have something in there.” He holds onto the dog’s face, staring deep into his eyes. “Sometimes, I could _swear_ you’re human. You probably understand me, too, and you’re just holding back.” He claps his hand in front of John, frantic. “Please, John! I really need help.”

Miraculously, on hindsight, John does help him. He gets up, tugging Mamoru up and over to a shelf. He pokes the shelf with Growth’s releases on it, and looks back up at Mamoru.

“They’re our releases,” he states dumbly. Unhelpfully, his mind supplies a memory of Kouki saying something obvious as a comparison, and the difference between their atmospheres is palpable. Almost as if reading his mind, John tugs him over to their X-lied series.

Mamoru looks at them, all lined up—there’s three of them so far, and a clearly empty place on the shelf where his, and poor Nozomu and Ren’s, CD should be. He picks up Kouki’s, smile slight and elegant next to Sora’s energetic one. “This was how it started.” He looks down at John. “It was Kou-kun, you know, who gave me the idea to make them their own unique worlds through their solos.” He starts humming the melody, thinking of Lila, of rain, of stars and echoing chords. “He was the one who insisted on this melody, but now that I think about it, I can’t imagine it any other way. He’s normally the kind of person who forges his own path, but… but maybe it’s because he wrote the lyrics himself this time, it really feels like a world we built together.”

John nudges him along, and he moves onto Kensuke’s. “ _Planetaria_! I knew I wanted to do something energetic, especially since he mentioned he liked songs people could dance to. And did you know Ken-kun likes space? Ever since _Corona_ I thought the energetic kind of song suited him, so I was thinking of building a similar world—and then somehow, the space theme just naturally matched up. _Look, I see Lyra,_ ” he sings softly, remembering the comfort of TV marathons and snacking habits, as he floats through images of constellations and sweet nebulas. “It’s always fun with Ken-kun around, but there’s something about him that makes you feel like he’s got your back. I hope I managed to convey that.”

He barely notices John trotting next to him as he moves along to Ryouta’s. “Ah, _Primula_. Now that one was a challenge.” He laughs as he absentmindedly scratches John’s head. “Ryou-kun was unusually fired up about this release, and we talked a _lot_ about what kind of song to make it. Did you know he likes musicals? He really wanted to challenge himself with something close to his dream roles, and this is what happened. I wanted to make him the hero of his world, to stand on his own stage and sing the kind of song he looks up to. It was an honest look at himself and his future goals, and I think it really shows.”

The smile quickly fades as he reaches the empty spot where his should be, and he stops in his tracks. His shoulders fall as the warm memories fade away in the face of this emptiness, and all of a sudden he feels exhausted all over. “What should I do,” he wonders aloud, to no one in particular, and maybe entirely to himself.

John lets out a snort, then, and it’s so ridiculous it manages to break the mood threatening to envelop him. Mamoru can’t help but snicker quietly, at both the situation and at himself, and reaches down to pet him again. “Thanks, John.” John, in turn, looks at him as if he expects an answer. “Wait, what do you want me to do?” Mamoru asks. “Do you want me to figure out what to do?” he asks, just in case, and unfortunately John _nods_ at him. “Okay, err…” he racks his brain. “Well, this was the X-lied series, and I still haven’t finished my part.” He looks down at John to check for a change in reaction, but the Shiba continues to stare at him. “Um, they were solos, and i wrote them, for my groupmates—” he peeks again at John, whose expression doesn’t change. “—on the theme of making worlds for them?” He trails off in a weak attempt.

At that last part John finally reacts, licking Mamoru’s hand and making him jump a little. “O-oh, okay, so that meant something.” He leans down further. “Let me just double-check.” He clears his throat. “I wrote songs with their own worlds for them.”

John licks his hand again, then nudges his hand to go on. “What, do you want me to go on again?” John butts his hand, and Mamoru starts thinking. “Okay, I built worlds for them, does this have anything to do with how I’ve always written songs for other people, but not for myself?”

It must, because John starts wagging his tail. Mamoru starts seeing a glimmer of hope he doesn’t dare chase, not when he is still mostly unsure. He tries to put them together. “I built worlds for them… I have never written a song for myself… ah.” He peers at John. “I haven’t written myself a song yet, but I should… build a world? Because the others have gotten some kind of ‘world’.” The tail wags faster. “So I… should build a world for myself?”

He practically expects fanfare and streamers from the ceiling at how excited John gets, jumping and barking and wagging his tail at speeds he didn’t know dogs worked at. After a solid minute or two, John settles down again to lick Mamoru’s face from where he remains crouched, frozen at John’s sudden display of happiness.

He looks back at the X-lied singles, lined up in a row, and it’s amazing it didn’t hit him until now. “The X-lied songs were to show each member and their own unique world, and. And I’m, I’m also a member.” He reaches a hand out to touch the empty space where his will soon be. “My song, my world.”

John barks at him, and somehow, if he’s not crazy, he understands him. “I know what to write now—thanks, John!” He gives him one last petting, and runs out of the staff room. “I promise to bring you treats next time!” He bounds down the hallway to fading barks.

 

 

 

* * *

“So you’ve finished your solo? Wonderful!”

“Yes, sir!” Mamoru straightens up unconsciously as he passes a folder to the President. “Sorry it took a while, sir!”

The President winks at him as he takes the folder. “I’m glad. I can’t wait to hear it, Mamoru-kun! I was looking forward to this a whooole lot.”

“Well,” he scratches his head, “I don’t know what you’ll think, but I hope you like it! I put a lot of myself into this song.”

“Hmm, I see.” President Tsukino glances through the title, the lyrics, the sheet music before finally glancing up as Mamoru continues to stand at attention. “Mind if I ask what your inspiration was for this song?”

“John,” he replies, looking at the Shiba curled up next to the President’s desk. “Just kidding!” he laughs, then pauses to add, “well, maybe half-kidding.”

“Oh?” The President’s gaze follows Mamoru’s to look at the sleeping dog. “Aw, John, did you help? Did you help poor suffering Mamoru?” He reaches down to smother John, who grumbles at the rude awakening. “What a good boy! Who’s a good boy, _you are_ , yes, you’re a _good boy_!” He straightens up, clearing his throat as his voice returns to a normal pitch. “He’s very smart, you know.”

“Oh, believe me sir, I know.” Mamoru smiles fondly down at him. “He actually helped me figure out what kind of song I wanted to write.”

“And what kind of song is that?”

He thinks about stars, rain, and flowers. “Something about the people I love, who have become my world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: how do i choose who kisses who when i love them all and every combo  
> me:  
> me:  
> me:  
> me: wait this is fanfiction i can do whatever tf i want
> 
> \---
> 
> this started as me stress-writing them being cute n kissin and then predictably i rambled and. yea i dont even know. im tired


End file.
